


To Get You Alone

by SomewhereApart



Series: Breaking In [10]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Breaking In verse, F/M, Love From OQ 2021 | Outlaw Queen Secret Admirer 2020 (Once Upon a Time), Outlaw Queen - Freeform, Valentine's Day lovin in the these quarantine times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: It's Valentine's Day 2021, and Robin and Regina are dealing with the same crap we all are. They've spent too many months cooped up with their families and a general sense of dissatisfaction and malaise threatens to pre-empt the holiday altogether. Regina is ready to call this year a wash, but Robin has other plans. (Breaking In-verse, future fic)For @babylawyer, for Love from OQ 2021!
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Series: Breaking In [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/920265
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46
Collections: Love From OQ





	To Get You Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Babylawyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babylawyer/gifts).



They’ve all been stuck in this house together—her and Robin, her father, and at least one (if not both) of their sons—for almost a full year now. It’s… fine. Whatever.

It sucks.

Once they’d gotten used to it, there had been a little while where it was almost… routine? They had a rhythm down. Her dad had helped the boys with school so Regina could focus on work and Robin could focus on attempting to keep the pub afloat on take-out orders and wishes. Regina had made breakfasts, Daddy had made dinners, Robin had made a smattering of stress-induced grey hairs that Regina finds sexier than she expected to.

They’d made it to the summer. They’d bought a lot of masks. They’d had countless Zoom play dates. Regina had been more glad than ever that this house has an actual sizable yard for the boys and the dog to run around in. There’s been a lot of soccer (Roland was supposed to be in a summer league, but it had been canceled. Because everything is fucking canceled), and a _lot_ of fetch with Pixie.

If the bar hadn’t been limping, she’d have been dreaming of installing a pool (something she’d never considered in the years since they bought this house, but _this_ year laying outside and soaking up some sun while the boys splash and dunk each other to burn off some boredom sounds like heaven). But the bar _is_ limping, so right now dreams consist of a future where there are full tables, and too many bodies, too much noise on game nights, and a kitchen that’s pumping out order after order of pub fare.

She’s just glad _her_ business is still steady. At least they have one income they don’t have to worry is on the brink of collapse.

So.

Times are tough.

They could be worse, she knows—and she’s grateful. They’ve been lucky. Kathryn has lost an aunt and two cousins. Mal spent the last two weeks of summer laid up in bed feeling, in her words, “like death on toast,” and another two after that looking pale and worn on every video chat. Robin had gotten a call from a cousin in early December, asking if anyone had told him yet that his dad was in hospital. (They hadn’t.) He’d been broody and short-tempered after that, torn between worrying the man would die and not caring if he did; Regina had been very selfishly relieved when they got another call three days before Christmas that his father was home and resting.

His sour mood had abated and they’d been able to have a happy, if small, Christmas.

So. They’ve been lucky. Relatively speaking.

And it still sucks. She’s tired of it. Tired of this house that she loves, of these people that she loves. Of her home office. Of the news. Of being dependent on other people to be competent or considerate in order to hasten the end of this mess.

She wants a vacation.

She’s cranky. She can admit it. She takes _a lot_ of long walks with the dog these days, as much to give the others some space from her constant dark cloud as to clear her own head.

They’d agreed not to do anything for Valentine’s Day. What was the point, really? It’s not like they can escape to a hotel for the night, or go out to dinner. He’d gotten her a necklace—a slim gold pillar with the date of their first ill-fated date etched into it; she’d gotten him a set of Blackwing pencils and a new Moleskin musician’s notebook hoping it might inspire him to pick up the guitar that’s been gathering dust in the corner of their office the last few months.

And that, she thought, would be that. They’ll celebrate frivolous holidays like Valentine’s Day again when the world doesn’t feel quite so soul-sucking.

They’d had pizza for dinner with her dad and the boys, and then put on a movie, munching on those cheap candy hearts for dessert (they taste like chalk; she only eats two before ditching the box on the end table). Robin had hung back, offering to clean up the kitchen and start a load of laundry—two things that she, quite frankly, considers as much of a Valentine’s Day gift as the necklace currently hung around her neck. When the movie ends and the spot she’d saved for him on the sofa is still empty, she can’t say she blames him. Alone time is hard to come by in this house, after all.

If it gives her a little pang of disappointment that she hadn’t been able to spend the evening cuddling with her sweetheart under a cozy blanket, well, everything is disappointing these days, isn’t it?

It’s not late yet—barely ten—but she’s tired anyway, so she tells the boys and her dad that she’s off to shower and bed, and then drops a Valentine’s Day smooch on each of their cheeks, gives the dog’s ears a good scratch and climbs the stairs, yawning as she goes.

There’s a light on in the bedroom—dim, but on, she can see through the crack beneath the door. Regina half expects to find Robin sacked out in bed, unexpectedly asleep with his phone dropped onto his chest or something.

What she does _not_ expect to find is the bedroom bathed in the flickering glow of a dozen fat pillar candles, their rich, warm scent filling the space. His bedside lamp is on, but hers is not, so there’s just enough light that she can see the bed has been stripped, the quilt and blankets folded neatly over the foot, rose petals strewn all over the sheets.

Regina’s mouth drops open as she takes in the sight, gaze flicking to Robin where he sits, perched on the edge of the bed in nothing but his favorite threadbare sweatpants and a smirk.

“What’s all this?” she asks as he stands. It’s a silly question—it’s obvious what _this_ is, and if it wasn’t obvious from the setting, it’s obvious from the look in his eyes as he prowls toward her. This is a seduction.

He doesn’t answer until he’s right in front of her, invading her personal space, one hand finding her hip as the other reaches behind her to flip the lock on the door. Regina swallows, her heart starting to thump harder in anticipation. “This,” he tells her as her hands settle onto his bare ribs, “is Valentine’s Day.”

Both hands on her hips now, drawing her in close and smoothing around to her lower back, one staying there, warm and solid, the other sliding up her spine in a way that makes her shiver. His head ducks down to press warm kisses along the column of her neck, coaxing a sigh from her as she exhales, “I thought we weren’t doing anything...”

Regina feels a huff of breath against her kiss-dampened skin, goosebumps flaring as much from that as the way he swirls his tongue over her pulse, then chases it with a light scrape of his teeth.

“You didn’t think we’d be doing _this_?” he questions, beard tickling against her skin. Her nipples go tight in response, fingers flexing against his ribs.

Truth be told, it’s been harder to make time for _this_ lately, what with the full house and the busy schedules and the stress. She realizes with a jolt that the last time was probably her birthday—two whole weeks ago—and even that had been a bit rushed. He’d stumbled groggily into the bathroom as she’d been putting on her makeup (a habit she’s kept up with less and less over the past few weeks, but she’d had a video call with a client that morning), plucking the mascara from her fingers with one hand while the other tugged at the sash of her robe and snuck inside, dipping into her panties, into _her_. They’d locked eyes in the mirror as he’d tugged at her nipples and thrust two fingers against her g-spot until she was breathless and shaky, and then he’d fucked her from behind until her knees turned to jelly. She’d been grateful she hadn’t put lipstick on yet as she’d moaned into his hand and white-knuckled the edge of the sink, eyes rolling back as she came _hard_ from the combination of the quick fuck and his fingers expertly strumming her clit.

After, when they were both still a bit breathless, he’d wished her a happy birthday, told her he’d wanted to start her day off with a smile, then finally kissed her mouth. She’d hummed a satisfied moan into his mouth, then booted him out so she could finish putting her face on.

He’d been asleep again by the time she emerged from the bathroom.

He’s wide awake now, though, that hand at the base of her spine slipping down to cup her ass as he switches to the other side of her neck, treating it to the same eager attention.

Regina swallows hard and tries to think straight. “I did, just not… like this.”

Robin “mm”s against her skin, teeth nipping again before he lifts his head to capture her mouth. The kiss is heady and deep, tongues tangling, blunt fingernails dragging up from her back into the hair at her nape and giving it a gentle tug. She drags her own fingertips over his skin, letting her nails scrape up his shoulder blades and enjoying the way he shivers in response.

“You’ve—been—grouchy,” he manages between kisses, catching her bottom lip in his teeth after the last word and giving it a little nip and tug that short-circuits her brain before she can act all offended by his assessment. And then he’s kissing her again, tongue sliding against hers as he stumbles them in the direction of the bed.

He somehow manages to talk, kiss, and walk at the same time (Regina’s got the last two down; she’ll leave the first to him), telling her, “Thought an orgasm—or eight—might sort you—right out.”

Regina snorts, laughing softly as her knees hit the edge of the mattress, and letting him spin them at the last second so he’s the one who ends up plopping down onto it. He urges her onto his lap; she settles her knees on either side of his hips, teasing, “Eight sounds a little ambitious, don’t you think?”

Robin pauses, hands under the hem of her sweatshirt, and looks up at her with a frown. “You don’t think I can?”

She knows better than to issue him a challenge in the bedroom, so she soothes, “Oh, I believe _you_ can; I’m just not sure _I_ can. Especially not with the boys and my dad downstairs.” Her fingers comb through the hair at his temples, nails scraping gently in a way that makes his eyes drop shut. “They’re still up; it’s early. We can’t get too wild.”

Robin’s eyes open again, glinting mischievously as a smirk makes its way to his lips again. “That just means you have to be quiet, babe.” His nose brushes hers, lips stealing a peck. “And I intend to make that very, very hard for you.”

Heat scorches down her belly at the promise in his voice, at the confident urgency of his hands as they drag up her ribs, and then higher, tugging her sweatshirt off before their lips are crashing together again. He makes quick work of her bra, too, popping the hooks open one-handed while the other cups her nape in a way she particularly likes. She shrugs the straps off her shoulders and tosses it blindly to the floor behind her, never breaking stride on the press of lips and tongue.

Robin’s on the move in no time, planting kisses down her neck, nipping at her collarbone, then tugging her up a little so her breasts are conveniently right in front of his face. His breath is warm, calling up another round of goosebumps as he exhales, the tip of his nose tickling her skin moments before his lips close around her. He kisses her nipple the same way he’s been kissing her mouth—open-mouthed and with an indulgent amount of tongue, hot and wet around her in a way that makes other areas decidedly _hot_ and _wet_ in sympathy. Her breasts aren’t the most sensitive of her erogenous zones—not by a long shot—but there’s something about the way he so clearly _wants_ her right now, the way his palm cups her as he scrapes his teeth lightly against her, the way _he_ moans quietly as he sucks her back in, hard.

What her body fails to provide in pleasure is more than made up for by the sheer delight of how much he enjoys having her like this. So when he kisses his way to the other pebbled peak and swirls his tongue around it before drawing it into his mouth to give it the same passionate attention, she lets loose an appreciative gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, her hips pressing against his torso in search of a little bit of friction.

He chuckles against her, the vibration of it reverberating against her nipple as one of his hands makes its way down, down, squeezing her ass and then reaching even further, sure fingers rubbing over her sex through the thin material of her leggings. It’s not quite what she wants—his fingertips just barely graze against her clit with the way he’s reaching around her, and she’s still wearing her underwear, so he has a layer of cotton to compete with. But the firm drag of his fingers over her makes her acutely aware of just how wet he’s gotten her already. She rocks against the touch, a quiet, high-pitched moan in the back of her throat.

“Quiet,” he reminds, breaking from his task only long enough for the admonishment. Regina swallows hard against the next sound that threatens to work its way from her and busies herself with a thorough mapping of the planes and angles of his shoulders and upper back.

For a few long, blissful minutes, they stay just like that—Robin’s mouth teasing one nipple, then the other, then back, fingers rubbing and rubbing her until she’s fairly certain her thong is positively molded to her slick flesh, her leggings probably growing damp. His skin is warm under Regina’s hands, his stubble rasping against her in a way that makes every hair on her body perk up.

They’re both breathing heavily when she tugs his head back and covers his mouth with her own, trying to pour every ounce of her enjoyment and anxious need into the tangle of lips and tongue. She leans in against him until he begins to lean backward, intent on pinning him to the bed and having her wicked way with him, but he plants a palm on the mattress and stops her progress.

Their lips separate with a wet pop, her voice velvety and hushed as she insists boldly, “I want you.”

“And you’ll have me,” he promises, shifting their weight suddenly so that she’s the one who ends up back-down on the soft sheets. It doesn’t last—he’s urging her to roll onto her belly as he adds, “Eventually.”

Regina scowls in protest and calls him a tease, but both are half-hearted. Right now, she’s more interested in the way he’s nabbing a pillow from the head of the bed and urging her to lift her hips so he can shove it beneath. She likes to fuck this way—he hits just right, bearing down on her g-spot and feeling either satisfyingly deep or sinfully large depending on whether he plants his knees outside or between hers. But he’s just made it pretty clear that’s not on the menu quite yet, so she’s not sure exactly where he’s going when his fingers curl around the waistband of her leggings, tugging them and her thong over her ass and down her thighs, his knuckles and the fabric dragging slowly against her skin the whole way down. She glances back at him as he drops her bottoms unceremoniously on the floor, flushing a little at the hungry way he eyes her as he presses his fingertips into her calves and pushes up, up, ten points of delicious pressure rolling over tight muscles until he’s gripping her ass, and parting her cheeks, and—“Oh!”—licking a broad, wet stripe from her clit, through her sex, her hips twisting in protest when he shows no sign of stopping there. “Don’t—I didn’t—” Regina swallows. “Not there.”

Robin’s heavy exhale tickles against the crease of her thigh, and she hears him mutter, “Should’ve waited to set all this up til you were in the shower,” before he gives the bottom curve of her ass a little nip that makes her jump. It’s the only way she ever agrees to let him use his tongue _there_ —when she’s freshly soaped and scrubbed—and even then she chews her bottom lip for the first few seconds, some persistent, prudish part of her screaming that letting someone _lick her asshole_ is both unsanitary and inappropriate.

She tells him she wouldn’t have let him anyway, and he snorts and mutters, “Sure, you would’ve. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you love it.”

 _Love_ is a strong word, she thinks, muttering, “I wouldn’t go that far,” as Robin’s tongue finds its way to back to her sex and dips into somewhere far more appropriate. Still, her toes curl just at the memory of the last time she’d let him, of the way it had made her belly hot and her thighs twitchy, quiet moans buried in the duvet as she went from anxious to needy to delightfully debauched.

She almost misses his reply—that he knows she’s thinking about it and it’s making her wet—his mouth muffled against her as it is. Her cheeks heat, and she decides to pretend she _did_ miss it, pressing her hips back against him, tilting them a little to give him better access to the parts of her she’s allowing him to get his mouth on tonight. He shifts his grip on her hips, squeezing in a way that makes her moan as his tongue plunges deeper for a second, then pulls away.

“Hush, love,” he reminds, and right, right… She has to be quiet. The rest of the house is still awake.

Regina drops her forehead to the mattress, the scent of roses filling her senses when she inhales sharply as his tongue finds her clit and treats it to leisurely, light swirls. Everything feels different from this angle—the sweep of his tongue both familiar and novel, his hand coasting up and down the base of her spine both shiver-inducing and comforting. He can’t quite manage the moves that never fail to make her come like this, so it ends up more of a drawn-out affair, pleasure rising slowly. She exhales heavily when he starts fucking her with his tongue again, her hips grinding back into the sensation.

As enjoyable as it is, she can’t help feeling like a bit of a pillow princess. In this position, there’s not much she can do but lie there and take it, and while she’s not wholly _against_ that idea, she is very fond of things like tugging at his hair while he eats her out and watching his jaw go slack with pleasure as he slides into her.

Her fingers curl in the sheets as he slides back down to her clit, sucking it in and rubbing his tongue against it the way she likes. Almost the way she likes—everything’s topsy turvy, so he's rubbing against the hood of her clit instead of the sensitive underside. It’s _good,_ but not as good as she knows it can be. Still, heat streaks through her before she gasps, “Babe…” stifling another moan before telling him, “I want to watch you.”

She hears him huff a little chuckle, giving her clit one last soft suck before he shifts behind her. She expects him to move away entirely so she can roll over, but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s moving his weight to one arm, the bare skin of his torso warm as it presses against her thigh, his fingers stroking lightly through her folds for a moment before he sinks two into her and presses them down toward the mattress.

She lets out a _Guh…_ as pleasure blooms deep and wide in her belly; the move has found her g-spot effortlessly and he wastes no time starting to rub firm, quick circles against it. Regina’s thighs shake, her forehead pressing harder into the sheets. Everything smells like roses.

“In a minute,” he murmurs to her, but her brain has short circuited so it takes her a second to remember what he’s even replying to. She’s suddenly much less concerned with moving. His mouth presses to that sensitive spot where her ass meets her thigh, tongue swirling there as his fingers press again and again, and Regina whines.

“Wanna make you come like this first, I think,” he tells her, and through the rapid rise of pleasure she thinks he’s entirely too calm for her liking. And that it’s _hot_ , the way he can have her splaying her fingers out and fisting them shut, her hips rocking, thighs clenching, and still be able to chit chat with her like he’s reading the weather report and not her body’s every need. That he can casually undo her like this, only two fingers inside her just right until her breath goes thick and she’s huffing out heavy exhales into Egyptian cotton to keep from moaning her approval.

She feels his breath near the top of her thigh, and then the rasp of his beard, and the warmth of his tongue against her skin. A low, sucking kiss before he murmurs, “Tug that pillow up a bit, babe; I want you to sit on my face so I can lick you while I do this.”

Regina manages to tamp down the groan at his words, but just barely. Five years together and he still manages to get her with that wicked mouth.

His fingers ease up for a moment, then slip out of her entirely, and she can’t decide if she’s relieved or disappointed, but she does as asked—levers up onto her elbow and tugs the pillow beneath her hips up to her chest as Robin resituates and slides beneath her to take its place. Those fingers are back a moment later, stroking her once, tenderly, before dipping back inside her as the tip of his tongue touches her clit.

He teases her, that bastard, giving her the same hard thumps with his fingers while tracing just the tip of his tongue against her, over and over in fluttery little swirls. It makes her twitch, makes her gasp softly, makes her let out a couple of inventive curses that have him chuckling beneath her.

_Fuck._

He’s good at this, but he’s going to be the death of her, the pressure of his fingers making everything coil tighter and tighter, but the _lack_ of pressure on her clit keeping her just far enough from the edge that she doesn’t come.

And then she remembers she has more leverage here than he does and grinds her hips down against his face, pressing against his tongue. It works—for a moment—a brilliant, fizzing rush of pleasure streaks up from the point of contact. But almost as soon as it starts, he’s turning his head, nipping at her inner thigh and chiding her, “Bossy.”

He sounds entirely too amused with himself.

He’s not the only one with a mouth on him, though—she’s had years to get comfortable asking for what she wants from him in the bedroom—so she rocks her hips again and urges, “Stop teasing and make me come.”

“See?” he murmurs, the tickle of his beard against her skin making her shiver. “Bossy.”

Regina scowls, thinks, _I’ll show you bossy_ , then levers up until she’s actually _sitting_ on his face, his fingers slipping from inside of her as her own drop down to fist in his hair and tug him up tighter against her as she rolls her hips. It’s a little obscene, but she knows he won’t care—in fact, it rumbles a low moan from his chest, his fingers grasping her ass a little desperately.

Good.

“You have to be quiet,” she taunts, ignoring the way her own voice is breathy and thick with need. “Everyone’s still up.”

Turnabout being fair play, and all that.

It’s playing with fire, though. Their eyes are locked, and his heat with challenge, strong hands shifting to hold her thighs tightly (she feels the damp slide of the fingers that he was fucking her with and licks her lips at the little shiver of pleasure it gives her). And then his tongue finds her clit again, flicking hard and steady against it, over and over, making her jaw drop on a gasp she manages to strangle at the last minute.

 _That_ is more like it.

Fuck, she’s close.

She gasps his name as quietly as she can manage, then licks her lips and clamps them shut again as the relentless swipes of his tongue make her quake. Bliss surges up, up, climbing her spine until she can’t help arching it, one hand rising to fist in her own hair as she sucks in a sharp breath, the other tightening its grip on his short locks.

And then he sucks at her, hard, and she pitches forward, catching herself with one palm on the mattress as he wrenches a gasp from her. She’s right on the edge, so, so close, but she wants...

“Fingers,” she rasps, and, “I need—wanna come on—mm!”

“Shh!” he scolds, the stuttering breaths against her wet skin leaving no doubt in her mind that he’s chuckling at the state he’s got her in. Bastard.

There’s no way she’s going to be able to stay quiet like this, so she bends forward again, burying her face in the pillow as he buries his fingers in her, finding the right spot and a good rhythm before he brings his mouth back to her.

He doesn’t tease this time, drawing her clit between his lips and doing that _thing_ he does, that sort of fluttering, strong suction that blows her mind when she’s _not_ on the verge of coming.

But she is, and his fingers are perfect inside of her, and it only takes seconds. Orgasm breaks like a wave over her, dragging a low, needy moan up from her middle as she clenches on his fingers, hips stuttering against his tongue. He doesn’t relent, keeps fucking her and sucking like that; Regina bites the pillow and prays it’s enough to muffle the quiet squeaks she can’t tamp down as she goes oversensitive and twitchy, one of his arms still looped around her thigh and holding her tight to him.

When it starts building again, hot and urgent, she has a sudden awareness that she _will_ come again and that if she does, she will _shout_. She won’t be able to hold it back, not if he forces her up again so quickly. So she does the unthinkable and reaches down between them, shoving weakly at his head as she turns her face from the pillow and gasps, “Stop! Too much!”

It’s not, it was _perfect_ , but if she screams down the rafters there are some people in this house she won’t be able to look in the eye again until they’ve _all_ had a few hours of therapy.

Robin either believes her or understands her motives—either way, he obeys immediately, fingers slowing to a crawl, mouth falling open until it’s nothing but the soft tip of his tongue soothing against her sensitive clit. Slow and easy, bringing her down with little twitches of pleasure until she’s caught her breath.

He gives her one last, soft smooch, and Regina rolls off him, flopping to her side and stretching out knees too long bent. Robin scoots up the bed and leans over her, his hair all mussed, cheeks flushed, lips damp. He kisses her, deep and slow, letting her taste herself on his tongue before he pulls back and starts planting kisses down her neck.

“You,” he mutters, “Did not—” her collarbone “—stay quiet.”

Her sternum.

“I was muffled,” she excuses, surprised by how breathless she still is. Or maybe is again, she thinks, when he sucks a nipple between his lips and teases it with his tongue. They’re sensitive now, always are after she comes, and she arches up eager for more. She’s not the only one, apparently. The arm that isn’t busy propping him up is slipping down, down, his hand tucking between her thighs and stroking over her sex. Regina parts her thighs for him, pretty sure she can handle more of his touch after his leisurely decrescendo moments before. She’s not expecting him to slip _three_ fingers into her, her jaw dropping slightly at the extra girth.

It feels _good_ , her breath catching as he starts working her with slow strokes, pressing his fingers in deep, then dragging them back out nearly all the way before sliding in again, over and over. He takes his time working her over, his mouth on her sensitive nipples all the while, treating them to soft sucks and gentle bites.

Regina swallows hard and drops her hand between their bodies, fingertips mapping their way down his belly toward his cock. It’s stone hard when she wraps her fingers around it, and he bucks slightly into her grasp as she begins to pump him at the same lazy pace he’s using on her. She feels the soft vibration of an appreciative hum around her nipple and swipes her thumb over the head of his cock in response; it comes away damp. He’s more riled up than he’s letting on, and the knowledge makes her smirk.

As much as she’s enjoying this little interlude, there’s something they both want more, and she sees no point in delaying them any longer. Two weeks is long enough.

The hand not lazily wanking his cock lifts to his chin, drawing him up, away from her chest, until they can lock lips again. She kisses him pointedly, stroking her tongue against his, pressing their torsos more tightly together. When it breaks, she tightens her grip for one slow, firm stroke and asks quietly, “Don’t do you think we should do something about this?”

Robin’s blue eyes roll back a little, his fingers losing their steady rhythm as his Adam’s apple bobs heavily. “I was going to draw it out for you,” he tells her, just a hint of disappointment under the velvet-thick heat of his voice. “Make you come a few times first.”

“I don’t need a few times,” she assures him, her thumb circling over his head again. “Just you.”

It’s sappy and silly, but then, well, sometimes they are. Like now, when he grins at her and swoops in for another kiss, fingers slipping from her and rising to smear across her cheek and tangle in her hair as he shifts until he’s between her thighs, peppering eager kisses against her lips all the while.

She gasps, “Wait!” bringing a hand to the center of his chest as he reaches down to line himself up and slide home.

Robin pauses, cock in hand, brows lifting in question.

Regina gives him a little shove and says, “I want to be on top.”

Robin grins, shakes his head fondly and mutters, “Bossy…”

She snorts, whapping lightly at his chest before he leans in to steal one last kiss and then flops over onto his back beside her. His arms drop to the bed on either side of his head, a couple of rose petals stuck to the one that had been propped on the bed while he fingered her. She’d never really seen the point of rose petals on the bed, but suddenly they seem incredibly charming.

“Take me, love, I’m yours,” he sighs. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t sell it at all with the way she’s grinning.

It only takes her a moment to get situated, swinging her thigh over his hips, reaching between them to guide him inside her. She’s still soaked from before, needy from the way he’s been working her up, so she takes him in one easy stroke, drawing a heavy exhale from her and a low moan from him.

She smirks, teasing, “Shh…”

Robin narrows his eyes at her, reaching up to cup behind her neck and tug her down to him, daring her, “Make me,” just before their lips seal together again. Regina indulges in a few moments of heady kisses, then decides he’s not the only one who can make it hard work to be quiet and starts working her hips against him in a quick rhythm, her clit grinding just right with each rock. Robin groans quietly into her mouth and she grins—but only for the few moments it takes him to decide to give as good as he’s getting. He plants his feet on the mattress, palms dragging down her back and dislodging a few stuck rose petals of their own until he’s gripping her hips as his own drive up quick and deep.

Regina’s mouth pops open on a pleased, “Hah!” and then it’s a competition to see who can make the other break first. Grasping hands and gasping breaths, strangled groans, and soft moans muffled into shoulders and elbows. Their hips rocking and rutting, working them both up higher and higher, until their skin is sweat-slicked, and Regina’s thighs are starting to shake.

She breathes, “Fuck, Robin, _don’t stop_ ,” and he grins, knowing she’s right on the edge. One well-placed thumb, a few firm swirls and he’s got her, her own hand flying up to cover her mouth as she tries to tamp down on the urge to moan her pleasure as everything inside her goes taut and then springs loose, pleasure pinballing through her limbs, her belly.

She rides it out, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes with the effort to keep quiet, and then her world is suddenly spinning on its axis, Robin’s body settling over hers (she’s impressed he managed to stay inside her). He buries his head in her neck and groans as he starts to fuck her hard and quick, his weight pinning her body to the mattress. Regina gropes blindly for the pillow and turns her face into it to muffle the whine she can’t help at the sharp pleasure of the quick pace while she’s still so sensitive.

He comes a half-dozen strokes later, pressing hard into her with a shuddering exhale, muscles tense and taut. Another deep push, one more, and collapses with an explosion of held breath, muttering, “Fuck _me…_ ” into the sweaty skin of her shoulder.

Regina smirks, equally breathless as she replies, “Just did.”

Robin doesn’t bother to lift his head (she’s squished beneath him, but doesn’t mind—yet), just gives her hip a sharp poke as he huffs a chuckle. She thinks he mutters, “Cheeky,” against her, but she can’t quite be sure.

There are rose petals on his shoulder, she notices, peeling one off his damp skin, the bed fragrant with the sweet scent of flowers and the decidedly less sweet smells of sweat and sex.

She feels loose. Relaxed. Well seen to.

And happy.

“Thanks for this,” she murmurs quietly, peeling away another petal from his skin.

Robin lifts his head finally, levering his weight up onto his elbows so he can look down at her. She runs her toes along the length of his calf, her fingers down the muscle of his bicep.

“Good Valentine’s Day, despite everything?” he asks.

“Very good,” Regina assures.

“You look much less grumpy,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smirk just begging to form.

Regina narrows her eyes at him, the urge to argue she was _not_ grumpy a knee-jerk that nearly wins out. But it would be a lie, and they both know it, so she just stretches beneath him and sighs contentedly, enjoying the way his gaze drops down to her breasts when she does.

“Only took you two orgasms to sort me out, after all,” she teases.

He pulls away and lands on his back again, tugging her with him to pillow against his chest. “I’ll have to remember that for the next time you’re scowling all over the place.”

Regina can’t help it; she lifts her head and frowns down at him, realizing a moment too late she’s walked right into his trap. Robin grins up at her, heaving a sigh and teasing, “Scowling already? Well, if I must, I must…”

She’s on her back again a moment later, stifling her snickering this time instead of moans and grunts. They’re both exhausted, loose-limbed and sated, but he makes good anyway, taking his time, working sensitive flesh with lips and tongue and fingers. Making love to her this time, slow and steady, their brows pressed together and breath mingling.

It’s easier to stay quiet this time, but it’s no less wonderful.


End file.
